


Vale Et Me Ama

by NorroenDyrd



Series: Amabilis Insania [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Attraction, Awkward Crush, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Memories, Cole (Dragon Age) Talks A Lot, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Family Drama, Family Loss, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Grief/Mourning, Guilty Pleasures, Hallucinations, Helpful Cole (Dragon Age), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inquisitor Backstory, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Parent-Child Relationship, Poisoning, Romantic Friendship, Sending Crystals, The Taint, blight sickness, dying character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-06 23:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6774055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorroenDyrd/pseuds/NorroenDyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dying Felix Alexius decides to have one last conversation with his father via a sending crystal, while Inquisitor Lavellan struggles with her budding attraction towards the defeated magister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title translates from Latin as 'Be in good health and love me', which was the traditional way of finishing friendly letters in Ancient Rome.

The cake is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen: tall and glistening with icing and thoroughly perfect in every way. Just one look at it makes his stomach gurgle. He gazes at it, frozen as he sits among the pile of his new toys, while the household slave that brought this lavish wonder looks on at him with a fond smile.  
  
'A runner just delivered this for you, Master Felix. Another birthday present! He wouldn't say who from, but I wonder if it was your grandfather? I think that fellow is a servus of his.'  
  
Felix frowns, suddenly feeling not so in awe of the cake any more. He doesn't like his grandfather very much; he is certainly not the least bit like the grandfathers you read in books. Those are jovial and kindly and full of smiles - but the only smile Felix's grandfather is ever able to squeeze out of himself looks so crooked that you can't even call it a smile, not really. And for some reason, Felix always manages to make his grandfather angry.  
  
One of his earliest, and most vivid, memories of his grandfather is nothing but lots and lots and lots of yelling. He was still a toddler back then; his grandfather came into his room while he rolling a wooden toy chariot back and forth around the floor - and, before Felix could as much as blink an eye, the old man yanked the plaything out of his grasp, placed it a grown-up's arm's length away from him, and commanded, loudly and brashly, like a handler training a dog,  
  
'Fetch!'  
  
Like a good, well-behaved boy, Felix obeyed, even though his first impulse at the barking sound of his grandfather's voice had been to start crying. Trying very, very hard indeed, he got up, and made a couple of wobbling steps towards the toy. And that was when the yelling started. The first yell, so startling that Felix plopped right back to the floor, was accompanied by a swoosh of the old man's mage staff, which he used like a stick to lash against the boy's hands.  
  
'Not like that, you dimwit! With your magic!'  
  
From that point onward, the memory is an ugly mess. Very soon, Felix started sobbing, feeling helpless and confused because no matter how hard he tried to wriggle his fingers, his face growing red with the effort, the stupid chariot just wouldn't budge. And the harder he sobbed, the angrier his grandfather became, and the harder the staff fell upon him, leaving glaring red marks on the back of his palms.  
  
'Make it move!'  
  
'Can't!'  
  
'I said, make it move, you stunted little runt!'  
  
'C-can't!'  
  
'Yes you can, and you will, or so help me..!'  
  
The deafening mix of screaming and bawling filled the room up until the moment when Papa came rushing in, swept Felix up in his arms and, shaking all over as if he was feeling cold, pointed silently at the door.  
  
Ever since that day, Felix has been seeing his grandfather very, very rarely, and most of their meetings were hardly better than the mishap with the chariot. Which is why learning about the cake's origin is giving Felix some really serious doubts. But golly, it does look pretty! He wonders if it has a fruit filling; if there's a fruit filling, he may give it a try, after all. Hey, maybe Grandfather sent it in to say sorry for being so mean to everyone - for hitting him with his staff and for making Papa grow so shaky and pale!  
  
'Uhm, Lucia - ' Felix says, looking up at the slave. 'Can you please cut this for me? I wanna have a bite!'  
  
The woman smiles.  
  
'I thought you would say that, Master Felix!' she says warmly, picking up the carving knife that rests on the plate at the cake's side. 'I have all you need right here. Master Gereon might object to you giving yourself a treat before that big dinner he has been fussing about all week... But we can make it our little secret!'  
  
Felix snickers, quite enjoying the role of a conspirator, and sinks his teeth deep into the soft, slightly moist cake slice that Lucia has handed to him. It does have a fruit filling, tucked in between layers of cream and spongy dough - though Felix cannot quite figure out what sort of fruits those actually are supposed to be. They taste... kind of bitter... And burn at his mouth a throat... And...  
  
'Master Felix? Master Felix!'  
  
Felix wants to respond to Lucia's call, to cry out, to breathe - but the burning feeling grips at him like a very tight collar, making him gag. At the same time, his hands and feet grow terribly cold, till he loses feeling in them completely, and they seem to dissolve in the swirling emptiness that surrounds him. With no feet to help him feel the floor, Felix is no longer able to tell whether he is standing or falling or flying; the emptiness continues to close in around him, sucking him in like a whirlpool. Suddenly, the light in the room flickers, and as the shadows shift, they reveal a horde of monstrous, disfigured creatures, which were not there before. In row after row after row, they stand watching, waiting, sizing Felix up with their milky eyes, as hoarse, rasping breaths escape their slit-like mouths with razor-sharp teeth. Stupefied by fear and revulsion, he stares at their grotesque, noseless faces - and let's out a long silent scream, dark, sticky blood bubbling at the back of his throat.  
  
  
Felix opens his eyes, his chest heaving, and claws helplessly at the bed sheets with his ashen-grey, dark-veined hands.  
  
This is not how the dream should have ended if it were just a memory from his childhood - for this is not what really happened during that fateful birthday celebration. Felix should have seen his mother, bursting into the room at the sound of Lucia's horrified shriek, picking up his small, listless body, and almost literally kicking life back into him with a powerful healing spell. He should have recalled himself lying in bed, almost drowning in countless poofy pillows, while his parents were talking to each other in the next room, in urgent, hissing whispers... Something about how his grandfather had decided to poison him, because he was not the 'perfect mage scion' that was supposed to continue the Alexius bloodline... and how the old man had not even bothered to cover up the leads that might have pointed to him, like the cake being delivered by one of his own slaves, because he must have been certain that the other magister families would have taken his side.  
  
And, of course, Felix should have remembered how he, still weak from the poison, somehow crawled out of bed and staggered into his parents' room, almost having to grope around to find his way, because he was blinded by scorching, stifling tears, which rolled and rolled down his cheeks without end, as a tremendous, overwhelming pain, far greater than any pain he had ever felt in his life, mounted inside his chest. He should have heard his own voice, trembling and nasal from weeping, asking his parents,  
  
'Is... Is it true? Am I really - am I really... wrong? Broken? Would things have been better if I was dead?'  
  
And he should have seen his father drop to his knees next to him and draw him close, one hand resting on his shoulder, another patting the hair at the back of his head; he should have heard him whisper, a short simple word, the only one that he ever managed to pronounce, his chest racked by pained, groan-like breaths,  
  
'Never'.  
  
Felix should have seen all of this, if the spirits of the Fade really wanted to reenact that day. But instead, this journey to the past was interrupted by a horde of Darkspawn, closing ranks around him, patiently awaiting the moment when their tainted poison in his blood finally took its toll. This must mean only one thing. That it is almost time.  
  
Felix draws a small breath to gather up what meagre strength he has left, and pushes himself into a more upright pose - just enough to reach the small bell at his bedside. The faint jingle (which sounds slightly apologetic, because he has never enjoyed being a burden) summons a young human servant. This is Lucia's son; his mother was dismissed long ago, when her debt to the slavers who had initially bought her was paid, and she was able to return to her family. But as the good woman has always had a fondness for Felix, she instructed her lad to pay him regular visits to check if he ever needs anything. Felix (as much as he can in his current state) sees to it that the boy is amply rewarded for his trouble. After all, being able to stomach his current appearance is already a remarkable accomplishment.  
  
'Fine morning to you, sir!' the lad declares brightly. 'You'll be wanting the crystal, right?'  
  
Felix smiles.  
  
'You remembered the instructions! Thank you so, so much! Could you pass it to me, please? I... I don't think I will be getting out of bed today'.  
  
'Right away, sir!' the servant responds, and, trotting up to Felix's bed, hands over the small pendant he has pulled out of his pocket. 'With that be all, sir?'  
  
'Uh... I think so, yes. You can go home now. Thank you again for visiting - and give my regards to your mother'.  
  
As the boy runs off, Felix presses his finger against a small button that releases the pendant's lid. Inside, is a small shard of a polished gem, which hums faintly with magic. A sending crystal - quite an exceptional curio, even among the high-ranking mages of Minrathous. Felix chanced upon a pair of these as he was sorting through his father's desk, at the time when, still able to walk properly, he tried to find something that could help him with his address to the Magisterium - On the Inquisition and the Achievements Thereof (Maker, composing that speech had been quite a challenge; he is a mathematician, not an orator!).  
  
The magical artifact that he is holding now, in his bony, ghastly white fingers, had a card tied to it, signed in his father's handwriting,  
  
_To Felix._  
  
_If you ever need my help, this will always be at your fingertips._  
  
_Happy Satinalia!_  
  
_Love,_  
  
_Papa_  
  
At least, that is more or less what Felix managed to deduce, since the little paper slip looked as if it had been crumpled up and smoothened again many times over, and some of the letters were blurred out by small, greyish splatter marks. He left the card behind where he had found it, taking only the crystals - and as he slid the drawer back into place, he could almost see his father, hunching over his desk, staring blankly down at this little gift that he must have intended to greet Felix with when he got back from university... Well, it is about time the gift was put to its intended use.  
  
The twin of Felix's sending crystal is currently en route to find the Inquisition. Maevaris Tilani, a friend of Dorian's, who has taken to corresponding with him (eager to discuss her plans for reform in Tevinter), has provided Felix with an updated location of the Inquisition's headquarters. And he, in turn, has managed to outline what he believes are fairly precise calculations of when the crystal should arrive. Some adjustments had to be made - as, at the very last minute, Felix ended up using a raven instead of a carrier pigeon (for some reason, Ferelden has become an extremely hazardous environment for the latter species over the past decade or so). But in all, every variable has been accounted for. And based on all the factors, such as the bird's flight velocity and possible changes in wind direction and weather, the little package should be arriving at the keep any moment now. They still have time to talk, before it is finally over.


	2. Chapter 2

With a delighted gasp, Cassandra tears the latest smutty tome out of its author's hands and immediately throws it open, her face glowing like a child's on a Satinalia morning. Varric looks at her with a smug smirk, perfectly satisfied with his end of the bargain he made with Inquisitor Lavellan (which went as follows: he finishes the new installment of his romance serial in exchange for getting to see Cassandra's reaction).  
  
As he turns to walk away, the dwarf remarks jokingly,  
  
'Be sure to tell about it to your friends... If you have any'.   
  
For that, he is given a very disapproving look by the elf, who has also been watching the scene.  
  
'That is a little harsh, Varric. You know Cassandra does have friends - and you are one of them'.  
  
The dwarf freezes in mid-step, while the human looks up from her book - and both of them cry out in an indignant chorus (though Varric's indignation is rather more tongue-in-cheek),  
  
'What?! No!'  
  
The Inquisitor presses her hand against her chest and smiles broadly,  
  
'Aww, you two are so precious!'  
  
'Precious is hardly the word for it,' Varric grumbles, not too seriously. 'The woman has slammed me against multiple walls!'  
  
'Because you are an insufferable, insubordinate, lying...' Cassandra retorts breathlessly, almost cracking the hapless book's spine with her clenching fingers.  
  
'But the Storm Coast!' the Inquisitor reminds them, her smile growing broader and broader. 'Remember how you, Cassandra, were almost crushed by that ogre, and Varric shot it between the eyes just in the nick of time? And oooh, what about the Hinterlands - you know, that ram-hunting expedition when Varric would have been chewed in half by a bear if it wasn't for that epic shield bash? Oh, oh, and Varric - you know that time at camp, when Cassandra threatened to shove you in the lake but didn't? She actually smiled at your jokes - I saw it with my own eyes! You have been bonding all this time, and I am so happy for you!'  
  
'The way you say it, you make it sound as if we are about to get married or something,' Varric says, shaking his head in mild amusement.  
  
'If you did, I'd be the first one to cheer!' the Inquisitor reassures him.  
  
Cassandra's neck and ears suddenly reach a deep, saturated shade of magenta.  
  
'What a preposterous notion!' she says through her teeth. 'That is too much even for your tall tales, dwarf!'  
  
Varric shrugs.  
  
'Well, tall tales or not, Blueberry here has a point. We do make a kickarse team - not quite as kickarse as my old gang in Kirkwall, but pretty close. And if you stopped trying to crack my skull in between our adventures, I would actually be rather inclined to invite you to the Herald's Rest for drinks... That's far from a marriage proposal - but... something to think about. I do owe you a conversation after...'  
  
'After I attempted to beat you up because you had lied about Hawke?' Cassandra asks, calming down a little and resting her book-free hand on her hip. 'Yes, you do owe me a conversation. And I owe one to you. In hindsight... I might have been a bit too brash'.  
  
'Do I hear a note of affection in your voice, Seeker?' Varric teases. ‘Should good old Ruffles start ordering bridesmaids' dresses for everyone?'  
  
With that, they head off towards the tavern together, the Inquisitor watching them fondly. After the dwarf and the human disappear from view, the elf looks around absently, bobbing up and down on her toes and beginning to hum a tune, while a whole fluttering swarm of thoughts passes through her mind.  
  
Now that these two have been brought closer together, what should she do next? There is still some time before Cullen returns with a report on that march for Sera, and she cannot abide bring idle, not in a fortress full of friends that sometimes need reminding what great friends they are! Perhaps she should seek out Cole; he always has amazing ideas about helping people. Outlandish, perhaps - but very effective.  
  
But on the other hand... maybe she should first get down to what she has had no time to do, what with chasing bandits and tracking red lyrium shipments and gathering healing herbs. Maybe she should... But would she be welcome?..  
  
Her musings interrupted, the Inquisitor starts and makes a comical flapping motion with her arms, as someone bumps against her from behind.  
  
'Oh my!' she exclaims, hurrying to turn around. 'I didn't see you there; are you...'  
  
Her voice fades away into silence, as she gapes at the person that has stumbled into her. It turns out to be a middle-aged, clean-shaven man with what Dorian would call 'chiseled features'; he is wearing the same robes as the Inquisition's new allies from the mage rebellion - and they look very odd on him, outlandish even, making him almost unrecognizable.  
  
'Gereon!' she addresses him, sounding both joyful and surprised and slightly sheepish. 'I was just thinking about you! Goodness - I haven't seen you since...'  
  
'Since you passed judgement on me,' he finishes, making the Inquisitor shrink her head into her shoulders with a small, awkward laugh.  
  
As soon as the main hall at Skyhold was swept, scrubbed, and decluttered from centuries' worth of debris, Josephine had a fancy-looking spiky leather chair thingy erected just below the glass-paned window. Then, the good Ambassador led the awkward, gawking elf up to it and announced that this was where she, as the newly elected Inquisitor, would decide the fate of the most high-profile prisoners captured by her forces. Frankly, Lavellan still has not become quite used to this new duty: it has been challenging enough to deal with the thought that so many people are certain she was chosen by their god (who she does not even believe in, but whatever makes them feel better). And now, in addition to being revered as a prophet, she has to pretend to be this strict Inquisitor who, instead of embracing and forgiving her foes, has to choose between beheading, imprisonment, and exile.  
  
Thankfully, she has only had to judge two people so far. One of these people was an Avvar chieftain, whose son imprisoned some Inquisition scouts in hopes of luring Lavellan into dueling him so he could see if her gods were stronger than his... or something. The duel ended in Lavellan's favour (just barely, and mostly thanks to the jars of bees that Sera had made everyone pack for the journey) - and to avenge his son, the chieftain climbed on top of a rock not far from Skyhold and started throwing goats at the walls. Yes, actual, literal goats, which also had a bit of a flatulence problem, as Josephine attempted to tactfully put it. Apparently, these fuzzy, bleating projectiles were part of some time-honoured Avvar custom. After sitting there, on her throne, awfully confused and trying very hard not to laugh out loud at the antics of Sera (who was mimicking a farting goat behind Josephine's back), Lavellan ruled that the Avvar clan be exiled to Tevinter - where, according to messages from Dorian's pen friend Maevaris, they have been wreaking havoc ever since.  
  
The second prisoner, brought before the mighty Inquisitor to have his fate decided, was former magister Gereon Alexius, once a member of the Venatori cult, and co-creator of the time travel spell that could have unravelled the whole world.  
  
Looking at him, as he stood in front of her throne, a guardsman holding him back from either side, was difficult. She felt so sorry for him, and so scared of what would become of him once she was done - and also, not the least bit embarrassed, because she suddenly remembered that moment at the campsite, just before Solas led her aside to talk about the Elder One's orb and finding Skyhold. Sweet merciful Sylaise, she had actually thought about kissing him! She is pretty certain that it is not only selfish to bother someone who has lost his family with silly advances, but also, uh, not very natural. Most likely, young women her age are not even supposed to be drawn to men that are so much older. But - but there just is something about his face, and his voice, and that little smile that she has managed to get out of him several times... No, she had better stop thinking about this. Right now.  
  
'I am sorry I didn't set you free,' she mutters, trying to tilt her head in a way that would conceal her flush. 'My advisors wouldn't let me. Josephine said that it would ruin the Inquisition's credibility as a force fighting the Venatori; Leliana said that you still had to earn our trust; and Cullen got scared that you had blood-magicked me somehow, when I as much as mentioned letting you go'.  
  
Alexius gives her a fleeting, reserved smile, which lingers just enough for the elf to mentally slap herself for getting distracted again.  
  
'Serving your mages is not the worst fate that could have befallen me,' he says, with a faint note of bitterness in his voice. 'Not to mention...'   
  
He hesitates, then brings himself to continue.  
  
'Tevinter has officially disavowed all the actions of the Venatori. Back home, I am what we call a persona non grata. I couldn't have returned even if given the opportunity... And if I did make the attempt, it would have endangered Felix. I would not have wanted him to spend the... last days of his life in the shadow of a man who was declared a traitor and disowned by his homeland'.  
  
'I am so, so sorry,' the elf breathes, watching the lines on the human's face grow deeper. Just as she did before, during their journey through the snow, she takes his hands in hers and holds them for a moment, her heart clenching at the thought how cold his touch feels.  
  
This time, he does not draw away, instead allowing her to release his hands from her grasp when she feels is right. Then, he says,  
  
'Thank you... It is Inquisitor now, isn't it?'  
  
She shakes her head.  
  
'Still Yavanna'.  
  
'Well then, Yavanna,' Alexius says, accenting her name slightly, 'When we... crossed paths, I was running an errand for Enchanter Fiona. Would you... care to accompany me? If you do not have any other business to attend to, of course. I must admit, for all of the Inquisition's hospitality,' Here, he sounds rather sarcastic, but soon, his voice grows sincere again, 'My mind has been heavy as of late. And during our previous encounters, you helped me appreciate the diversion of a friendly conversation. I suppose I could approach Dorian with the same request, but...'  
  
His mouth twitches.  
  
'But truth be told, I have... missed your company'.  
  
Lavellan lets out something between a cough and a gasp, her blush deepening.  
  
'I - I have missed you too, Gereon! And I am sorry I didn't seek you out earlier! Apparently, being the Inquisitor involves even more travelling around and fixing problems than being the Herald of Andraste! Not that I don't enjoy fixing problems, of course...'  
  
She is still rambling something about feeding hungry peasants and sating the curiosity of dwarven researchers from the University of Orlais, when Alexius motions her to follow him across the courtyard and makes the first few steps. Presently, Lavellan falls silent, startled by his strained, limping gait.  
  
'Gereon...' she asks slowly. 'What's happened to you?'  
  
'Ah,' Alexius says. 'You have noticed. Pardon the upcoming indiscretion - but it will be easier to show you'.  
  
He stops and flicks his wrist leisurely, so that the hem of his robe rises from the ground, drawn into the air by magic, without him having to bend down. The spell barely lifts the cloth a couple of inches, but it is enough for Lavellan to see the iron shackles that encircle the former magister's ankles, cutting so deep into his flesh that they leave dark bruised markings. The sight shocks her so much that she even forgets to process the fact that the man she finds attractive has just shown her some skin.  
  
'A small precaution of your spymaster's,' Alexius explains, his tone deliberately dismissive (something that Lavellan has already noticed quite often in Dorian... Perhaps downplaying your own hardships is a major discipline Tevinter education). 'As you so rightly pointed out, I still have to earn the Inquisition's trust. Who is to say that I will not start drawing summoning circles in blood the moment I am given full freedom? It is also quite a fitting retribution for all those slaves I apparently sacrificed to the Elder One...'  
  
'Please don't say that, Gereon - we both know it's unfair!' Lavellan chokes tearfully, leaning down to get a better look at Alexius' chains. 'How could Leliana do such a thing?! Why does everyone keep hurting you?! First, they left you behind while Haven burned - and now, this!'  
  
'You were quick to offer me your friendship, Yavanna,' Alexius says, his gaze growing dark and heavy. 'But for your inner circle, I am still the magister who tried to enslave the rebel mages and ripped a hole in time. Who intended to erase you from reality. Who...'  
  
'Yeah, I get it,' Yavanna cuts him short, with an exceptionally disapproving sniff. 'But you know what? When I recruited Blackwall, he was very proud to be part of something that is as noble as the cause of his Grey Wardens. And if the Grey Wardens accept people with all sorts of dark pasts, why can't the Inquisition? Why can't we inspire everyone by showing that we trust our friends, no matter what? And if we absolutely must serve this human Maker, why can't He be a god that loves and forgives and gives hope, instead of smiting sinners?'  
  
She pauses to catch her breath, and then concludes resolutely,  
  
'These are coming off! Now!'  
  
Oh sweet Creators, she hopes he has understood that she meant his shackles... not his robes... or anything like that.


	3. Chapter 3

Slowly, cautiously, Lavellan walks Alexius to a place where he can sit down - a pile of wooden planks for the scaffolding, which have not been put to use yet. After he lowers himself onto this bench-like construct, the elf squats down opposite him and, groping around in one of her trusty satchels, produces a couple of lockpicks. With a confident, practiced air, she inserts one pick into the keyhole that holds one of the heavy metal anklets together, and takes to turning it carefully, feeling for the right position. She takes great care not to touch Alexius' bare skin - for one thing, it would probably hurt a lot if she accidentally applied pressure to his bruises; and for another... Well, suffice to say, she had better focus on her main task.  
  
'I am surprised to see a Dalish elf who grew up in the woodlands exercise so much finesse around locks,' Alexius remarks, watching the Inquisitor with some interest.   
  
'Well, there weren't a lot of locks to pick around the camp, that's for sure,' Lavellan agrees, sticking her tongue out with the effort. 'But a human sweetheart of mine showed me a thing or two'.  
  
'Oh?' Alexius says. It is a very peculiar sort of 'Oh'; rather on the disheartened side... Or maybe she is just imagining things.  
  
'He was a merchant's apprentice,' Lavellan explains. She is still devoting all of her attention to the lock - but for a moment, her blue eyes dim over slightly, as she is tempted to give in to her reminiscences.  
  
Ah, those were simpler times... Everyone who had travelled to the Free Marches from Ferelden was so excited about being alive, in the wake of the recent Blight; the mage rebellion was still brewing up; and there was no demon-spitting hole in the sky. Her greatest quest at the time was to talk her clan and the local humans into becoming friends - something that earned her quite a few tongue-lashings from her mother (who claimed that she was insulting their ancestors by cavorting in the hills with the people whose race was a sworn enemy of theirs). But on the bright side, there were other tongue-lashings as well, of a far more pleasant nature, delivered by a charming, roguish village boy, who always took the clan's side in disputes with his neighbours. Lavellan still misses him sometimes, and whenever the memories of him decide to revisit her mind, she always feels grateful for those walks hand in hand down a forest path, and those many (quite creative, and ultimately successful) attempts to learn how to kiss, and those excited giggles they would share at the realization that their elders did not know what they were up to. Oh, and of course, his greatest gift of friendship to her clan.  
  
'His master had some goods my clan desperately needed,' Lavellan continues, after gathering her scattering thoughts. 'But he refused to trade with "savage knife-ears". So Gavin - that's his name - he stole the goods and gave them to us anyway. And showed me how he got in and out, too. Oh, he was a crafty rogue for sure!'.  
  
'Was not your clan placed under suspicion when the theft was discovered?' Alexius inquires, not seeming too invested in accounts of Gavin’s craftiness. 'If the missing items just happened to be the ones that you sought to obtain?'  
  
Lavellan snorts.  
  
'Gavin made it look like his master had done it himself - like he had meant to mess with his own ledgers when the viscount's men came to collect taxes, or whatever these human paperwork thingies are called. I probably shouldn't gloat, as I felt rather sorry for that merchant, despite his meanness... But Gavin pulled a fast one on him! Aha - gotcha!'  
  
The lock clicks, and Lavellan surveys the fruit of her labours with a satisfied grin.  
  
'There you go,' she declares, in an almost singsong voice, as she loosens the metal's grip around Alexius' ankle. 'Now for the second one!'  
  
'What happened then?' Alexius asks, while the elf shifts her attention to his other ankle. 'To this... Gavin? Do you still...'  
  
'Even though nobody came accusing us of stealing from that merchant, the clan still had to move on,' Lavellan says, with a deliberate shrug.  
  
Back then, she bawled her eye out at the thought of parting with her special human friend. As far as she can recall, she actually thought she was in love with him. Now, she is no longer certain - according to most books she has read, love is supposed to amount to a little more than walks and kisses and giggles. She was likely exaggerating - after all, she was barely out of her teens - young, silly, and overly emotional. This little drama of hers is nothing worth mentioning - certainly not to someone who has seen real tragedy. Parting ways with a sweetheart is nothing compared with losing your family to darkspawn.  
  
'That's our way of things: we come, stay for a while, then leave... Landships that pass in the night. I had some... ideas about staying behind with Gavin, but my mother talked me out of it. Or yelled me out of it, more like. She yelled at me a lot - but I don't bear a grudge against her for it, because now I know this is what made her feel better. Anyway - I haven't seen Gavin for, I don't know, five, six years? I like to imagine that he married some sweet village girl, who takes good care of him, and he of her. Because I want everyone to be happy... Speaking of which: I got the second one, too!'  
  
With that, she lets the second shackle fall loose and bounces back into an upright pose, clapping her hands. Unable to hold back a smile of relief, Alexius kicks the chains off and, bending in two, soothes his swollen, black-and-blue ankles with tingling healing magic. When most of the pain he must have been feeling finally subsides, he returns to the conversation.  
  
'With respect,' he utters, looking up from his spell-casting, 'If your mother lifted her spirits by mistreating her own child, she is not...'  
  
His voice quivers slightly; Lavellan is quick to see that her silly little story has hit a sore spot. She cannot imagine Alexius ever yelling at Felix (certainly not the way Mamae yelled at her, with all the shaking and redness in the face and whatnot) - but maybe someone else in his family did?   
  
'I... I should have guessed that it would get personal,' she coughs. 'I am sorry. Again. I probably shouldn't have talked so much about myself'.  
  
Alexius pulls back his robe and gets up.  
  
'If we are to have a friendly conversation,' he says earnestly, 'One should expect it to be a, how to put it, two-way road. You invited me to confide in you - I would be honoured to return the favour'.  
  
There is a small pause, as both of them are rather stunned by Alexius' generous display of amiability. Eventually, he decides to change the subject.  
  
'So what is your plan now, my friend?' he asks. 'What do you intend to do with these chains of mine?'  
  
'I think I'll take them,' Lavellan replies, while scooping up the shackles from the ground. 'Maybe pass them on to Bull: he was searching for something like that for... entertaining some guests of his. So he told me, at least. I don't really know what he meant, but he swore nobody was getting hurt... unless they asked him nicely? Uhhh, I don't get those Qunari metaphors at times'.  
  
Alexius looks amused for some reason, but does not comment on Lavellan's musings. Instead, he merely says,  
  
'And as for my own self - do you propose that I go about my mage business as if nothing were amiss?'  
  
Lavellan nods vigorously.  
  
'Absolutely! And then Leliana will be like...' she pulls up the collar of her jacket with her free hand, to imitate the Spymaster's hood. "Oh my, ze magisterr is doing his zhob so well, no?" And I will be like, "Surprise- surprise, he has been without his shackles this whole time!". And she will be like...' Here, Lavellan rolls up her eyes and leans back, pretending to faint. "Le gasp! Mon cher magisterr, please forgive moi for not trusting you!".  
  
This exaggerated little performance (as Lavellan hopes, at least) provides precisely the kind of diversion Alexius spoke about.  
  
'I don't think your Spymaster's Orlesian accent is that... overwhelming,' he chuckles.  
  
Lavellan's face lights up. For a moment, as the lines of care seem to leave his face, Alexius looks younger, and more full of life than she has ever seen him. This sight fills the elf with a joy more profound than all the walks with Gavin could ever bring her. She wants to say something (she is not quite certain what, but it has to be something gleeful), but before she can really begin speaking, she is interrupted by the shrill caw of a raven.  
  
Looking up, the elf and her companion see a black-winged shadow, which slides across the sky and then begins descending towards the courtyard in continually narrowing circles.  
  
'Perhaps we rejoiced too soon,' Alexius mutters. 'Your Spymaster does have ears everywhere'.  
  
'That is not one of Leliana's ravens,' Lavellan objects, squinting at the feathered newcomer. 'I come to feed them sometimes; they all have their own names, tag rings on their feet, and these special quirks that make them easy to tell apart. This one looks nothing like them'.  
  
She barely concludes her sentence when the raven lands at her feet and cocks his head inquisitively, his raisin-black eye glinting. The elf lowers herself to her knees in front of the bird and coos affectionately,  
  
'Awww, what a pretty, clever fella you are! Do you have something for us? For the Inquisition?'  
  
The raven caws again, as though trying to give her an affirmative answer, and then extends one of his feet, which has a small package tied to it. Taking great care not to disturb the bird in any way, Lavellan undoes the knot on the string; just as she is finished, a curious little crystal falls into her palm, shaken out of its paper wrapping.  
  
Alexius, who has been watching the elf, suddenly grows pale.  
  
'Let me see that!' he pants, reaching for the crystal shakily.  
  
Frowning in concern, Lavellan turns towards him, the crystal still resting in her hand; suddenly, making the elf start and almost drop it, the polished little shard glows with magic. There is a faint crackling noise, followed by the sound of a disembodied male voice, which seems to come from the core of the crystal.  
  
'Hello? Hello? Can anyone hear me? Did my package reach the Inquisition's headquarters? I do hope I haven't messed up with my calculations...'  
  
The voice is familiar to Lavellan - and even more so to Alexius. Sinking into a kneeling pose next to the elf, he touches the crystal with the tips of his quivering fingers; his expression makes it obvious that he is doing what he can to hold back tears.  
  
'Felix...' he whispers feverishly. 'Felix...'  
  
The voice's owner appears not to have heard him; for he repeats,  
  
'Hello? Is there anyone there?'  
  
The elf swallows and speaks into the crystal as loudly as she can, lifting it to her face, while Alexius is still hovering his hand over hers, petrified with anxiety.  
  
'Hello, Felix! It's me, Yavanna - the Herald! It's so wonderful to... hear from you! Your father is right here with me - I imagine it's him you wanted to talk to!'  
  
'Yes!' Felix responds; his tone is eager, but his voice does not rise in volume, and the more he speaks, the more it appears that the task requires quite some effort on his part. 'I heard he had stayed on with the Inquisition, so I thought that dispatching a sending crystal might help... help me...'  
  
The crackling noise intensifies, while Felix breaks into a strained, dry cough - a sound that drains every last drop of colour from his father's already greyish face.  
  
Lavellan slips the crystal gently into Alexius' hand and gets up.  
  
'I will leave you be,' she says, giving the former magister a smile of encouragement. 'I have to give these shackles to Bull; and there is Blackwall, too - I promised to help him make toys for the refugee children'.  
  
Alexius nods vaguely, gripping the crystal as if he was drowning and this magical artifact was the only thing keeping him afloat - and switches from the common tongue to hurried, breathless Tevene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops, my hand slipped and I ended up giving Yavanna a boyfriend. :B
> 
> I think I will write some more about her relationship with Gavin in the future. It was pretty sweet, if fleeting. 
> 
>  
> 
> I am also not quite sure if it is lore-compliant to refer to King's Tongue as 'common', but everyone in the game seems to be able to speak it (including Orlesians at the Empress' ball whilst conversing among themselves), so one could assume it's a sort of a lingua franca of Thedas.


	4. Chapter 4

'You found them! You found the crystals!' Alexius says, uttering every sentence like a feverish chant. 'Thank the Maker I could not bring myself to throw them away! I considered it many times; they were a reminder of... of...'  
  
'Of what might have been?' Felix suggests, his voice sad and a little bitter. 'This is what has made me fear for you the most, Father'.  
  
'You? Fear for me?' Alexius echoes in a whisper. 'Oh, my boy - I do not matter. I never have'.  
  
'Don't say that!'  
  
This must have been intended to sound like a loud, urgent plea, but instead, all that Felix manages to get out of himself is another coughing fit. This time, it is more raspy, gargling, as if he is choking on blood. Alexius closes his eyes and bites into his lips, apparently pushing back a cry of pain.  
  
'Don't say that,' Felix repeats, once his coughing subsides. 'You do matter. I accepted my fate long ago - and you know what pained me much, much more than this tainted sickness? Seeing you, Father, so bent on fixing something that was not meant to be fixed, that you were willing to destroy yourself. That's why I have decided to try and make these crystals work. To tell you, one last time, to let me go'.  
  
Alexius tears his eyes open; they look swollen and bloodshot, but no tears roll down his cheeks.  
  
'How can I let you go?' he mouths, his lower lip trembling and twisting to the side. 'When it is my fault you are... you are...'  
  
'Dying,' Felix says, his voice sounding like the deep breath a diver makes before plunging into an underwater abyss. 'I am dying, Father. Just like everyone is bound to die, sooner or later. And it is not your fault'.  
  
'I should have been there!' Alexius cries out, almost shattering the crystal in his grip. 'I _could_ have been there! I could have gone back in time and saved both you and your mother! But instead, I failed you... Again and again and again... In the past, the present, and the future...'  
  
'The only person that you failed is yourself,' Felix persists. 'You are one of the best, noblest, wisest people I know; you don't deserve being poisoned by regret and self-hatred like I have been poisoned by the Taint. You still have a life to live after I am gone'.  
  
'A life that will be like a desolate wasteland... no matter how hard my... newfound elven friend tries to make it less so,' Alexius says, in a quiet, hollow voice. 'No parent should outlive his child'.  
  
'If your sole purpose in this world was to become my parent,' Felix remarks, struggling to maintain a tone of deliberate bravado, 'You would have looked like a giant procreation member!'  
  
Alexius gapes at the crystal incredulously, while somewhere in its depths, his son's voice turns into a faint chuckle.  
  
'Shocked you, didn't I?' he teases, a spark of mischief lighting up in his tone. 'Dorian would have approved... But I do mean it: you have given me the most wonderful childhood, and I love you very much - but you are not just a father. You are a person, and I am afraid that spending all this time by my bedside has made you forget that'.  
  
Alexius hesitates with his reply, freezing with his face buried in his free hand. At length, he brings himself to start speaking, inhaling some air in short, pained breaths.  
  
'After we... parted ways, and the Inquisition took me into custody,' he says, 'The Herald... my unexpected friend... came to offer her help. She was... kind. She extended a helping hand when I was about to give in to despair. And thanks to her, I almost forgot... at times, when I did not think too hard... how... agonizing it would be, losing you... But now, hearing your voice again - it has made me remember. Trying to embrace this... personhood that you speak of... will be hard... very hard... like walking with an open wound'.  
  
'All wounds heal, Father,' Felix soothes him. 'And the scars they leave make us stronger'.  
  
'That is more or less what the Herald told me,' Alexius sighs.  
  
'Well, she is right! It would do you a lot of good to listen to her! Now that you are part of the Inquisition, you and Dorian can change the world for the better - you can undo what the Venatori did, and inspire our countrymen to reform Tevinter! Isn't that what you always wanted? Isn't...'  
  
He gasps for breath, his eager speech interrupted by a very alarming hiss-like noise, coming somewhere from the back of his throat.  
  
'Felix?' Alexius calls out to him, peering into the glowing heart of the crystal.  
  
Felix swallows, then laughs weakly.  
  
'I am still here, Father. Not... Not going anywhere. At least, not in the... physical sense. Where... Where was I? Oh. Right. I was trying to say that I think the Inquisition is doing great things - this is what I said at the Magisterium, too - and that you can be a part of it! I couldn't have wished for more'.  
  
Alexius nurses the crystal in his hand, looking down at it with a wistful smile.  
  
'Oh, my dear boy... Thank you... I don't deserve the faith you put in me - but I am beginning to put more and more faith in the Inquisition'.  
  
He pauses, then adds, still smiling,  
  
'Did you say you addressed the Magisterium?'  
  
'Oh, yes!' It is evident from Felix's voice that he is smiling as well. 'They couldn't, or wouldn't, officially let me have your seat - because, uh, I am not technically a qualified mage... But I was sort of a guest speaker. And by the Maker, did I speak! You should have seen their faces when I painted a most objective verbal picture of the Elder One! You will probably read all about it in Maevaris' letter to Dorian; she came up to me when the session was adjourned, and said I deserved my very own statue... I would have loved to reenact my speech for you, and have you grade it based on rhetoric fundamentals, but... I am afraid I don't really have the strength for it'.  
  
He swallows again.  
  
'I will be frank, Father - saddening... saddening though it was... to watch you struggle against fate... it - it was likely your healing magic... that helped me live long enough to make that speech. And who knows, maybe some day... some day they will use your research to find a cure for the Blight. And then, someone else's child will be saved, thanks to you'.  
  
'If only - ' Alexius begins, but Felix cuts him short.  
  
'Yes, I know. If only that child was me. We have been through that. It wasn't me. And there's nothing wrong about that. I have spoken to you, I have said what I was meaning to say, I have heard your voice for one last time - and I am ready now'.  
  
Felix's voice, which has steadily been dropping in volume since his account of what happened at the Magisterium, is now hardly more than a soft rustle, merging with the crackling of the crystal and at times growing completely inaudible. Alexius has to raise his cupped hand to his ear, as if he were holding a sea shell and trying to make out to drowsy rhythm of the ocean.  
  
'Felix...' he implores, barely moving his lips. 'My boy... Please... Talk to me... Just a while longer...'  
  
'I can feel it again,' Felix's voice resurfaces from the crystal's core, suddenly loud and clear and almost cheerful. 'This... pulse inside my temples... Like a headache and a song at the same time... It is coming closer and closer now - the... the darkness... Filling every inch of the room... Calling to me...'  
  
'No!' Alexius cries out hoarsely, the first film of tears finally moistening his burning, reddened eyes. 'No... no!'  
  
'It's all right, Father,' Felix says. 'I am not afraid'.  
  
And then, slowly, tenderly, he utters the common Tevene phrase that is used to conclude letters and conversations exchanged by close friends and family members,  
  
'Vale et me ama. Be in good health and love me'.  
  
After that, there is silence. The crystal crackles for a while, until eventually, the light of magic in its heart goes out, leaving it cold and dull. A useless bauble, clasped in the shaking hand of a helpless, abandoned, weeping man... Until he leaps to his feet, roaring like a beast struck by a hunter's arrow, and smashes the crystal against the ground.  
  
***  
  
'Is that bear breathing fire?' Lavellan asks, bemused, as she twirls the freshly carved wooden toy in her hands.  
  
Blackwall shrugs, snorting into his beard.  
  
'The boy asked to make him a fire bear, so I obliged!'  
  
'That was actually quite lovely of you,' Lavellan remarks, picking up the chubby, smug-looking stag that she has been working on, and making it have a little fight with the bear. 'Most adults would have scoffed and said that fire bears don't exist'.  
  
'Well, it's what kids do, isn't it?' the Warden smiles. 'Imagine things that aren't real?'  
  
'She imagined there was snow outside,' a small voice joins in, almost making Lavellan drop the toys to the barn floor. 'It made the cold that gripped her body seem less scary. Come play with me by the fire, big brother... But Liddy, it's the middle of summer!'  
  
The genial, content expression fades away from Blackwall's face, replaced by a shadowy frown.  
  
'I know you are lurking out there, Cole!' he snaps. 'That thing you are doing with people's thoughts - you'd better stop it!'  
  
'He does not mean to stir up unpleasant memories,' Lavellan says, as she sets the stag and the bear down and turns to greet the spirit boy, who has materialized on top of the first and largest toy in their makeshift woodwork shop - a rocking griffin.  
  
'He just wants to help'.  
  
Cole nods, straddling the griffin with his legs and tilting it back and forth.  
  
'I want to help you do your own helping, too,' he says to the Inquisitor. 'You will have to go back now. To where you left him. Writhing, breaking, bursting, a bleeding hole where a piece of his heart has been torn out. He needs you again - he does not quite realize it himself yet, but he needs you. It hurts less when you hold him. He can see more... Lux en tenebris'.  
  
'Lux en...' Lavellan struggles to repeat the phrase, eyebrows knitted. 'That's... That's Tevene, right? You want me to go back to Gereon, don't you, Cole? Do you think it's proper... to disturb him?'  
  
'Gereon?' Blackwall looks puzzled. 'Gereon, Gereon; where did I hear that fancy name before? Wait... Gereon Alexius - that's the magister! The one from Redcliffe? The evil bastard who messed up time and - '

  
'He is not evil,' Lavellan objects firmly. 'He is just... in a dark place. He is my friend now; I am giving him a second chance. Just like I like to give second chances to everyone else. Because that's what the Grey Wardens would do, and I want to make the Inquisition into something as amazing as the Grey Wardens'.  
  
'Also because you still want to kiss him,' Cole declares, as unceremoniously frank as ever. 'You have wanted to for a long time, ever since he first gave you that smirk in Redcliffe. It is wrong, wrong, wrong; he is a magister from Tevinter; he is plotting something; if that is his son, he must be over fifty years old... You try to beat the thought out of your head, hammering at it, scared and ashamed - but it stays, dancing, dazing, distracting. His kisses would be different from Gavin's - slow and thoughtful, like reading a poem out of a book...'  
  
'Right now, kissing Gereon would be the last thing on my mind,' Lavellan says, trying to catch Blackwall's eye to see what he thinks of this little revelation (the Warden, however, has withdrawn discreetly into the background: a lady's privacy is to be respected, no matter where her affections lie).  
  
'He needs me to comfort him, not seduce him. Which I intend to do. So, good day to you two!'  
  
With that, she leaves the barn and hurries across the courtyard, to the remote corner where the former magister still stands, looking at the crystal shards at his feet without really seeing them, his gaunt, tear-streaked face more aged than ever before.  
  
'She will hug him,' Cole whispers happily, gazing in the direction where Lavellan went. 'She will hug him and hold him close, silent but soothing, warm and welcoming, like on that day in his cell, only tighter now, so much tighter, because his pain is so much stronger...'  
  
Blackwall steps closer to the barn's threshold, as if trying to discern what Cole is describing.  
  
'That little elf is remarkable,' he murmurs to himself. 'Nobody else would open their heart so readily to a former enemy'.  
  
'She will hug you too,' Cole beams. 'When rainier skies come, she will hug you... Though she may not want to kiss you as much as she wants to kiss him'.  
  
'That... That is quite enough, boy,' the Warden says gruffly, his face seeming to grow a shade paler. 'Go... help someone else'.


End file.
